THE USUAL WARNINGS:
This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind. If you
are offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or
unnatural sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this
type of material is illegal where you are, don't read
any further.
This is a fantasy. You will have to loosen your clench
on reality a little when you read it. This is a in
which physical acts and human responses are not limited
to, nor necessarily based in, reality. Some acts and
responses in this may be physically impossible
and/or physiologically improbable.
Also, as is the case with most of the in this
newsgroup, all the women in this are beautiful -
gorgeous, even. Gravity has not caused to
droop nor have wrinkles creased unblemished faces. The
men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls.
They can get it up and keep it up often and at will.
In this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs,
morals, or unwanted pregnancies. Guilt is a four-
letter word. Most important of all, neither strength
of character, courage of convictions, nor moral belief
stand a chance against any erotic stimulus. This can
be as benign as an accidental glimpse of a bared ankle
or as stimulating as a whipping on the genitals.
For those of you who didn't understand the preceding
statements, GO AWAY!
This is intended for the salacious entertainment
of consenting adults. Do not try to do any of the
things described in this story. You could injure
yourself or your partner, be arrested, or shot by her
father....
If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY! This will burn your eyeballs and fry your brain.
If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited
where you are, GO AWAY!
By continuing, the reader accepts all responsibility
for any disgust, revulsion, jail sentences, or pleasure
that results from reading this story. If you don't, GO
AWAY!
You have been warned!
If you enjoy this and feel the urge to post it on
a <free> site, at least give me (NightShade) credit for
it.
So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy
the story!....:)
NightShade
A Deer in the Headlights
Chapter 3
By Nightshade
That had all started and ended three months ago. Now
it seemed more like a passing thought than actual
events. and I haven't been together since,
although on occasion I see evidence of my car windows
being cleaner than I remember leaving them. I swear
the Jag runs a bit faster on certain days, too. But
things haven't been going well lately, for either of
us.
The first thing of note that happened was an industrial
accident at the mortuary where Darrin worked. It seems
he was making some final adjustments or something to
the body of one of the deceased prior to cremating it.
Somehow, the lid of the coffin accidentally slammed
shut on him and latched itself in the locked position.
No one ever did figure out why Darrin had to climb all
the way into the casket with that dead woman,
leaving his shoes, socks, pants and underwear lying on
the floor where the next shift found them. Strange,
no?
Even stranger, although the manufacture of the
cremation oven swears it is impossible to do so, the
automatic conveyer feed into the oven turned on all by
itself! Since the coffin was already in position on
the feeder track, the coffin along with Darrin and the
dead woman was into the raging fire before anyone could
do anything to save poor Darrin. As his widow, had to settle for a mere multi-million dollar
settlement for the loss of her beloved spouse. So
young, so beautiful, and now, so rich. So tragic, no?
My luck was even worse. My wife's brothers had been
mysteriously murdered. The police reports concluded
that the spouses of two clients (a.k.a. victims) of my
wife's brothers apparently decided that the world would
be a better place without the two brothers. One of
them was run down by an 18-wheeler. It would have
looked like a traffic accident, except for the fact he
was getting a massage in a seedy motel room at the
time. The truck had exploded through the flimsy wall
fo the motel and the front wheel ended up parked right
on top of his wallet. I thought that was appropriate,
somehow, as his wallet was in the back pocket of the
pants he was still wearing. Ouch!
That same tragic night the other had died as
well. I guess he should have known not to have
electrical appliances so close to the bathtub. It is
just too easy for something to fall into the water and
cause an accident. The authorities couldn't figure out
what he was doing with a steam iron in the bathtub.
Maybe ironing out his legal briefs? (Sorry, I couldn't
resist..)
Anyway, this incident might have been ruled an accident
as well, except it is really hard to fall on an iron
and embed it in your skull. Especially from the back.
Then to reach back and plug it in. To my way of
thinking there were just a few too many inconsistencies
for this to be an accident. Gee, you think so?
The cops, however, had way too many suspects. It seems
everyone they talked to that had dealings with one or
both of them had a motive to kill them. Most of them
almost justifiably. And those two were really
busy, too. There were hundreds of clients, therefore,
hundreds of victims and hundreds of suspects.
Interestingly, I never was a suspect. I was in Hawaii
for a seminar that week they died. Hundreds of people
saw me give my presentation. Won a fucking award for
it, too.
The upshot of those two happy endings was that my was suddenly the front, and only, runner for Momma's
inheritance money. I thought she may have jumped the
gun a bit, but the day after the dearly departed's
funerals, she filed for divorce. I couldn't believe
it. If I had known it was that simple, I would have
gotten rid of those two fuckers years ago. Years!
My lawyer got together with her lawyer and worked out a
settlement. She was in such a rush now that she was
obviously going to get Momma's money, she would have
agreed to anything. It seems she wasn't interested in
anything from me but the furniture she had been
collecting and storing in the garage for the past 25
years. That antique crap filled all three bays. Some
fucking French shit. It was as uncomfortable to sit in
or sleep on as the furnishings made for the
Inquisition. Which seemed fitting, somehow.
The bad news wasn't over though. Janet's dead
husband's Momma decided to move in with Janet, to help
her grieve and to help her spend her settlement money.
As she was packing up her house to move in with
Janet, she had a terrible accident and fell down the
stairs to her death. Trouble was, some of her biddy friends told the cops she never, ever went
upstairs. She was deathly afraid she would fall down
and herself. Damn! No wonder that bitch had
put up such a struggle. The first and second times I
carried her up those stairs she really put up a fight.
By the fifth time, most of the fight was pretty well
gone. Fortunately, the detectives ignored that lead
and didn't pursue it. If they had looked too closely,
they might have found the tiny little injection site
behind her left knee. Like I say, never leave an
accidental death to chance..
To continue with the bad news, shortly after that, my
mother-in-law suffered a fatal accident as well. She
apparently slipped on a throw rug while preparing to go
to a knitting class. She was still clutching those
sharp knitting needles in her hand when my soon-to-be
ex-wife found her. The needles went right through her
heart, which I found ironic. I would have sworn she
didn't have one.
I would have also sworn that Momma had never so much as
touched a pair of knitting needles much less owned a
set, but my almost ex-wife told the cops that she had
taken an interest in domestic things of late.
I just about choked on that one. But the cops believed
it. My soon-to-be ex-wife suddenly inherited Momma's
money, as the Will had not been changed to give it all
to the cats.
My favorable divorce agreement suddenly promised to
make me very wealthy. The lawyers had agreed to an
arrangement that we would half of everything. My
wife had agreed that half of everything I had was the
furniture in the garage. But the settlement went both
ways. God, I love that Equal Rights shit! She nearly
had a hemorrhage when she realized I was going to get
half of Momma's money and that she had already signed
the papers.
Not a bad arrangement, I thought. I got rid of my
bitter and a truckload of shit and in
return I got a ton of money and my garage back. Not
bad at all for 25 years hard labor. Except that my
wife pulled a fast one. She up to an judge
friend and got him to nullify her original filing for
divorce. Oh, well. I still got my garage back. And
even though we weren't getting a divorce, my decided to live on in Momma's house. So, three out of
four ain't bad, right?
What happened next was just terrible, though. The
movers came and loaded the truck with all the furniture
and the antiques from my garage. I had been out of
town for three weeks straight when they came. My wife,
not trusting the movers, had driven along behind them.
As they were headed out of the state, one of the brakes
on the truck must have over-heated and it started a
fire under the dry wood of the truck flooring. That
old furniture lit off like a rocket, almost as if there
had been incendiary devices, like bags of gasoline and
stuff in all the drawers and taped under the
tables.
No one expected my to try to rescue that shit.
But she did. Before anyone knew what was happening,
she dashed into the burning truck and started hauling
out pieces. She actually got three chairs out of the
van before the fire and smoke overcame her and she
burned up along with her precious furniture. The two
drivers of the van and all the passers-by were helpless
to save her.
That was three days ago. After the funeral, I just
flushed her symbolic remains down the toilet. I felt
that was symbolic, too.
I was back out in the garage, my empty garage, sweeping
up and getting ready to finally get my tools back out.
For twenty fucking years I had wanted a workshop. We
never had any extra space, or she had been afraid that
there might be some dust or shit that would get on her
precious furniture. Well, that was all gone now, and
her with it.
The garage was empty except for the beginnings of a
motor hoist in the third bay. For years I had been
planning on restoring an '57 Chevy I had found in a
run-down a couple of counties over. No one owned
it, and the was abandoned as far as I could tell.
I had installed a heavy chain and a winch up in the
rafters 20 years ago, and it still looked good as new.
I had made a couple of three-foot bars of iron with
center rings that could be hung from the hoist chain
and then used to lift a motor block out of the car. I
had cleaned up the area pretty well getting ready to
pull the rusted out hulk in from the back 40 where it
was tarped. I was busy sweeping and straightening.
I heard the `click-click' of her heels echoing off the
bare walls. God help me, my prick got iron hard even
before I turned to look at her. When I did, she was
everything I remembered and more. A wet dream come to
life.
A tiny smile played across her lips as she noticed the
tent in my pants. Her long erect nipples were doing a
nice job on the front of her tight as well. It
that's what you could call what she was wearing. It
was one of those sleeveless T-shirts that was cut
short, just under where her rested on her
chest. The rest of her outfit consisted of a micro
thong and a pair of very high stiletto heels. She had
come to get fucked. I had thought I was ready, until I
saw her. Now I wasn't so sure if she wasn't more woman
than I could handle.
She stopped in front of me, a curious look on her face.
"No glasses, John?"
"I got contacts."
"Oh! Well, do you like what you see?" She did a slow
pirouette in front of me, gradually lifting her arms
above her head as she pivoted. That motion exposed her
perfect to my view as the hem of the short raised up with her arms.
"Yes. Yes I do!" I deadpanned a big sigh and went
back to sweeping. I wanted to see how far she would go
to get fucked.
I could sense her confusion when I didn't jump her
right then. Unsettled, she wandered around the
cavernous room. I was watching her from the corner of
my eye as I continued sweeping. She touched an item
here and there, then stopped to seriously look at
something on one of the shelves. Something had caught
her interest. She picked it up and brought it over to
me. When she held it out and I saw what it was she had
in her hand, it was like a fist had grabbed at my
stomach and twisted.
She held an collar that I hadn't seen in more
than 20 years. I had forgotten about it until now, and
now all the pain of tragically losing a faithful pet
came rushing back to me.
When I could talk without shaking, I explained to that the collar belonged to my Springer Cocker Spaniel,
Lady. Lady and I had been together since High School.
I had seen this scraggly little runt of the litter in a
pet shop window on my way home from school and had been
irresistibly drawn to her. She seemed to feel the same
about me, as the owner finally gave her to me. He
flagged me down a couple of days later as I walked by
on my way home. He said she cried the entire time I
was out of her sight and would bark wildly whenever I
was in sight. I offered to work for him for free to
pay for her, and got my first job that way.
My like the idea of me getting a job, but
objected to me getting a until Lady won them over.
She was that kind of dog. It took her all of about two
minutes. From then until she died we were inseparable.
No one knows how she died, but the theory was that
Lady's leash somehow got caught on the bumper of the
car my was driving without her knowing about it.
All that was left of Lady when my got back from
town was the leash and this collar. And a 2-mile long
bloody smear where her legs finally gave out and she
couldn't run any longer.
Janet stared at the collar in shock as I finished the
short of Lady, ashamed and embarrassed at the raw
nerve she had touched. But she was a trouper.
She undid the buckle on the collar and slipped it
around her own neck. It was a tight fit, but she got
it fastened. It looked damn good on her. Better than
I remember it looking on Lady. I was visibly shaking
when she looked up at me and she misinterpreted my lust
for anger. She paled.
"I - I'm sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to make you angry."
"I'm not angry. What did you mean to do by putting it
on."
"I don't know. I just thought all of a sudden that,
well, it kind of looked like a slave collar, and, well,
you know." She tapered off.
"You want to be my slave?"
"Oh, no. I mean, yes! I mean, I."
"Yes or no? Which?"
"Yes," she said.
"My SEX slave?
I saw a shudder pass through her as she began to
realize what she had gotten herself into and where this
was headed. Then, "Yes, Master."
"Stay here." I walked over to where she had picked up
the collar and got a couple of items. Then I moved a
couple of things around, arranging them to fit my
purposes. I had no idea what I was going to do, and
was stalling for time. As I was looking through my
toolbox, the glimmer of an idea hit me.
I quickly left the garage and ran to my bathroom to
grab some things I needed. Then I dashed back and
found her standing right where I had left her. So far,
so good.
I moved set up a on a tripod, put in a
fresh tape and turned it on. I rechecked the angle and
the lighting. It was good. Then I went over to the
sawhorse I had placed in the center bay. "Come here,
Lady! Come on, girl." I slapped the leash against my
thigh a couple of times to indicate where I wanted her
to come to.
`Lady' got the strangest look in her eye when she
realized who - or what - I was referring to. She
hesitantly came over to me, a questioning, fearful
expression on her face. I think she already sensed it
would be a mistake to speak.
"Good girl! That's my girl!" I scratched her
familiarly behind her ears, as one would an animal.
Then I snapped the leash on her collar. I let it hang
down between her to let her feel the weight of
it. I intended her to feel the sting of it later.
Just for the Hell of it, unless she would give me an
excuse to really punish her.
I turned her so that she was standing with her back to
one end of the sawhorse and sat her down on the end of
it, facing away from the other end. I took duct tape
and firmly taped one ankle to one leg of the sawhorse,
the other ankle to the other leg. Then I helped her
lie back along the top of the horse, the narrow top
board barely supporting her spine. After both wrists
were taped to the other legs, she was completely
helpless and more than a little uncomfortable. The
sawhorse was sturdy but inflexible.
I kissed her hard on the lips and then quietly asked
her if she was sure this was what she wanted. She
thought about it this time, but the lust in her eyes
when she nodded was an inferno. I wondered briefly at
that time just who was controlling whom in this
relationship. Then I saw her nipple peek out at me,
and didn't give a second thought.
I reached down with my hand and got a firm grip on her
thong panties. I had always wanted to rip a pair of
panties off of a woman, and I did it now. I won't say
it's over-rated as a fantasy, but if you ever do it,
make sure they are either the cheap kind or really old,
or ever better, the old, cheap kind. Thank goodness
this pair was miniscule, because as it was, I was
barely able to snap the seams. Any more fabric and I
would have myself - or worse, Janet!
They came off in a quite dramatic fashion, ruined and
smelling of cunt. I savored them for an appropriate
amount of time and then stuffed them into her mouth. I
made sure they stayed there by applying two strips of
duct tape across her luscious lips. I think it was
then that she realized she might have been in over her
head. She could trust me or panic. Thank God she
decided to trust me.
One of the very few mementos I had from my grandfather
was an fashioned straight razor. It was exactly
like the kind they use in horror to slit
people's throats, dismember bodies, and to cut off
other body parts. I held that up now for her to see,
and with a flick of my wrist, opened it up so that the
gleaming blade was exposed. It took her a minute to
realize what she was looking at. The fighting began
when she did. I thought she was going to rip that
sawhorse apart with the struggles she was putting up.
Carefully, as she was still bucking, I made three cuts
in the material of her top. One at each shoulder and
another right up between her tits. No more Mr. Macho
for me. She froze the moment I moved the razor close
to her body. I slid the ruined from her body and
left her naked, but for those fabulous shoes and a
small patch of hair, which I intended to remove next.
I lathered up the shaving brush, whipping up a big glob
of foam. When it was nice and thick, I applied it to
her pubic area, lathering it up much more than
necessary. It took a second for her to comprehend what
I was doing, but when she did, she began to violently
shake her head from side to side. I decided to ignore
her protests and to pretend instead that she was in the
throes of passion.
Urging her to stay still, I lightly stroked the razor
through her already neatly trimmed bush. In three or
four strokes, it was all gone. I got the hot towel I
had brought down with me and laid it on the newly
denuded area. That got a completely different kind of
reaction from my new slave. She was much more
appreciative this time, keening into her muzzle and
thrashing around my finger I had `accidentally' slipped
into her cunt.
Her orgasm was explosive and left her drained. She
must have been primed for weeks before she had come
over today. I know I sure was.
I stood back and admired my handiwork. She was laid
out on the sawhorse like a feast at a banquet. Sleek
and bare, sexy as any woman I could have ever imagined.
It was beyond my wildest dreams, and, to be honest, I
was quite at a loss as to how to proceed.
Janet seemed to want to pursue the Dom/Sub
relationship. I was more interested in fucking the
Hell out of her every night for the rest of my life,
which would be significantly shortened in span if I did
exactly that. I didn't care, I intended to make her
the offer. In addition, I didn't want our first fuck
to be the result of a kinky bondage session. Somehow,
I wanted more romance, soft light, roses, candles,
tenderness, that kind of stuff. Call me a romantic,
call me soft, just be sure to call me for all your
insurance needs - Oh, sorry. Got a bit carried away.
Professional hazard.
I walked over to the bound girl. I knelt down by her
side, putting our heads at the same level. I tweaked
an aroused nipple to get her attention. For some
reason, she seemed to have drifted off.
"Janet?"
Her eyes focused lazily on my face. When I thought she
was all there, I continued.
"I need to talk to you."
She thought I was going to remove the gag. When I
didn't she got the most adorable frustrated frown and
made a couple of unintelligible noises that I assumed
were protests. They could have been swear words, but I
chose to ignore her frustration. It was kind of cute.
"No. I just want you to answer `Yes' or `No.' You
think you can do that?"
She nodded, glaring at me.
"Is this what you had in mind for today?" I indicated
her being tied up.
First she nodded, then she shook her head.
I thought about that for a minute, then she repeated
the nod and the shake very deliberately.
"Let me guess. Your answer is yes and no. Right?"
She nodded.
"So. You wanted to be tied up today?"
Again she nodded.
"Is this all you wanted? Just being bound."
She shook her head.
"Oh. Did you like it when I shaved you?"
She blushed, but nodded her head. It was a kind of
personal thing.
"Do you want to stop now?"
She shook her head vigorously.
"You want more?"
Nod.
"You want me to tie you up some more?"
Nod. Shake.
"Yes and no, huh? You want more than being tied up?"
Hard nod.
"What? Like when I took pictures?"
She made a kind of waddle, which I took to be
noncommittal.
I was stumped. She looked around for a moment, then
started to move her eyes and chin in a motion to
indicate something in my direction. I stood up, and
her direction of motion changed slightly. OK, it was
something about me. I looked down at myself. Other
than a huge hard-on, there was nothing out of the
ordinary about what I was wearing or about me.
I pointed at my hard cock. "You want to be fucked?"
Hard nod. Then a definite shake. We had been through
this before.
"OK. You definitely want to be fucked, but something
more, too?"
She nodded.
"It has to do with me?"
She didn't nod or shake, just did that chin and eye
thing again.
"What?!!" I was confused. She just continued to nod
at me.
I thought, `What the Hell.' Maybe she wanted me naked,
too. I took my off.
"Is this what you wanted? You want me naked, too?"
She gave me that maddening nod and then a shake thing.
"More, huh?"
If you could make a salacious nod, she did, her eyes
riveted to my crotch.
I took off my sandals. I held them up, teasing her.
"More?"
This time she rolled her eyes in total frustration.
I undid my belt and pulled it out of my pants, slowly,
like a striptease, man-style.
Her eyes widened, and she began quivering, using her
chin to point at the belt in my hand. Something told
me that this was what she had been trying to get me to
ask.
"You want me to do something with my belt?"
Hard nod, eyes glued to the belt.
"You want me to tie your hands with it, like the other
times?"
She shook her head and gave an exasperated groan.
"You want me to use my belt, but not to tie you," I
puzzled out loud. It hit me like a ton of bricks. "Oh
shit! Janet, do you want me to use my belt on you? To
hit you with it?"
She closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners.
Then she nodded, and sighed.
I stood stock-still. Paralyzed, frightened, excited
beyond action. My desire was evident to both of us,
but what she couldn't see were my reservations. I
wanted the first time to be special, but not special
kinky. I wanted it to be special romantic.
I also wanted with all my being to beat her with my
belt. Call me twisted, sick or perverted, but there is
something powerful about having a beautiful woman tied
helplessly in front of you, begging you to her.
Well, OK, not begging, but she was damn near hinting
real hard. I decided to give her the choice. She
could have both, just what order did she want them in?
"Uh, Janet?" Her eyes flew open at the sound of my
hesitancy.
"I have a problem. No, no, it's not that I don't want
to be your master and punish you. I want that very
much. Maybe more than you know. It's just that, well,
we haven't ever, you know, fucked. I was sort of
hoping to do that the next time I saw you, which is
today, now. But I don't want our first time to be
connected with, well, this kinky stuff, whatever it is.
"So I have to ask you: Do you want to fuck today or do
you want me to you?"
OK, so I'm a chickenshit coward.
She looked up at me, seriously considering what I had
said. She seemed to understand what I wanted and why I
wanted it that way. Then she nodded, again pointing
with her chin towards the open garage door where she
had come in earlier. I turned to look what she was
pointing at. There, in the doorway, where I hadn't
noticed it before, was a small gym bag.
I walked over and picked up the light nylon bag. There
wasn't much in it. The top was unzipped, so I pulled
it open and looked. She had come prepared. Ropes, a
gag, and a crop. I pulled the things out and held them
up for her to see.
"Were you intending to use these on me?"
She shook her head.
"You brought these for me to use on you?"
Nod.
"You really want me to hit you with this thing?" I
held up the crop and swished it a couple of times.
Nod.
"How hard?"
That stumped her, as it wasn't a yes/no question. So
she started whipping her head around, almost violently.
I got the idea.
"Really hard, huh?"
Nod.
"I don't understand. Do you want me to really punish
you?"
Blush, tears, and finally and slight nod. Then she
turned her head away. I couldn't get her to answer
anymore questions. It was now up to me.
Not quite ready to pass up a golden opportunity, and
not quite comfortable or ready to whip her, I did the
next best thing. I ate her out.
You would have thought I had stuck a cattle prod up her
butt the way she came off of that sawhorse. I swore
she was going to break her back. From the moment I
first knelt down between her spread thighs and kissed
her freshly shaved mound until I reluctantly pulled my
aching tongue from her dripping swollen gash, she
didn't stop bouncing up and down on that narrow board.
I guess she enjoyed it. I know I did.
After catching my breath, I carefully unwound the duct
tape and released her from the awkward position she had
been in. She sort of crumpled to the ground, halfway
gasping and sobbing. I let her stay there for a moment
while I grabbed a couple of things from the shelves in
the garage and moved a few things around. Then I went
back to her and lifted her to her feet. She swayed
unsteadily on her heels.
I helped her over to a spot underneath the winch I had
installed 20 years ago. I had one of the bars already
attached to the chain and had it elevated to about
waist height. I carefully wrapped one of her wrists
with a thick, clean oil rag, then looped a chain
attached to the end of the bar around her wrist. A
snap of the hasp and she was chained to the bar. I
repeated the process of protecting and chaining the
other wrist to the other end of the heavy iron bar.
I moved to the switch and activated the motor. It
purred as it raised the bar and her arms until they
were above her head. I stepped back to her and
repeated the process on her ankles with the other bar,
leaving about six inches of slack in the chain between
her feet and the lower bar. Then I raised the winch
again until she was dangling in the air, her feet
spread by the lower bar, her arms held apart by the
upper bar. The extra weight of the heavy iron dangling
from her ankles would have been too much strain on her
shoulders, so I didn't raise her all the way. I just
wanted the lower bar to keep her from spinning around
as I whipped her tender body. I did pull her taut,
however. She looked sexier than ever.
For the next hour or so I whipped her beautiful body.
I didn't think I had that much rage in me, but 25 years
of buried anger surfaced that day. took the
whole of it. When I finally stopped, she looked
terrible. I had used my belt for most of the time. I
found the whip to be too uncontrollable and I left a
couple of nasty welts on her creamy skin that would
probably scar. I had more control with the belt, and
although I tried to avoid the really sensitive parts,
like a direct blow to her or face or across her
hard nipples, she seemed to get off on it when I
slipped and had a near miss.
We both came a couple of times. I would see her in the
throes of a staggering orgasm and it would set me off.
There was sticky stuff all over the garage floor.
I stopped when I couldn't lift my arm anymore. She was
hanging limp in the chains, her skin a blotchy mass
of welts and bruises. She was going to for a long
time.
I removed her from her bonds, ripped off the gag and
lifted her down. I carried her up to the master
bedroom. I had just installed a hot tub, something my
ex-wife would have thought frivolous. Especially as
you had to use it naked. I stepped into the steamy
water and lowered us both into the soothing comfort of
its embrace. She didn't even flinch as the water
embraced her sore body. She slept. I cried. It was
had been a cathartic experience for both of us and I
felt a changed because of it.
Sometime later she stirred. She twisted her head
around to see me. She smiled.
"Thank you, John."
I kissed her forehead. "Thank you." I paused.
"Janet?"
She murmured something back to me.
"I don't ever want to do it that hard again."
"Good." She paused. "I'm glad we did, though."
"Huh?"
"Well, when we do this kind of thing again, you'll know
you don't have to hold back. I'll know you won't
injure me, too, so I can relax and enjoy it." I
noticed she said `when' not `if.' Amazing.
We were quiet for a while. "I wish you had told me
Darrin's Momma never went upstairs. That could have
caused problems."
"I didn't know what you were going to do! How was I to
know? And while we're at it, how did you ever get
Darrin to get into that coffin with that corpse?"
"I didn't. He climbed in all by himself."
She didn't understand. I almost hated to destroy her
innocence.
"Darrin was having sex with the dead body. It's called
necrophilia."
I heard her gasp as the light bulb went off. "So
that's why he didn't like me to move when we.." She
tapered off. "How did you find out?"
"He had some stuff in his computer and in his desk. I,
uh, ran across it that night we were in there."
"Does anyone else know?"
"I think everyone has guessed, but no one knows for
sure or has proof. I, uh, broke in your house and
destroyed the files the night he died. I didn't want
you to be embarrassed.
"Janet, it gets worse. I think he was planning on
killing you and embalming you in the garage. He had
all the equipment and chemicals. Some of the things he
had written on his computer indicated he was going to
do it soon. I didn't know what else to do."
"Thanks. Really. That bastard! Everyone else knew
about that stuff? Do a lot of people have sex with
dead people? Oh, God! I'll never look at a cemetery
the same way again."
I let her babble for a while. "So, tell me. Where did
you learn to drive an 18-wheeler?"
She stiffened.
"How did you know?"
"There was a single report of a slim figure in black
slipping away from the crime scene. Both crime scenes,
in fact. It must have gotten lost in all those other
reports the police had to go through."
"Oh. Thanks, again. One of our neighbors when I was
growing up was a trucker. I had a crush on him, which
he took advantage of. He taught me to drive a big rig,
while he felt me up. It was thrilling for while, then
he wanted to share me with his buddies. I didn't want
to and he beat me. I still wouldn't. I got back at
him and started his truck on fire."
"Like the furniture van?"
"Yeah. There's a lever underneath some models that
bleeds the air from the air brakes underneath the
trailer. If you put it in just the right position, it
looks like it is working, but it isn't. After about 40-
50 miles at speed, the whole tire assembly bursts into
flames. It's almost impossible to put out."
"But the reports said the trailer almost exploded."
"Oh, that. I overheard my neighbor and his buddies
laughing at all the folks that insisted their fine
stuff be protected from scratches and nicks and stuff
by being wrapped in shrink-wrap. It seems there were a
couple of kinds that were found to be highly flammable.
I had to look for weeks to find any of that stuff."
She grinned. "The guy was so happy to give it to me,
he didn't even bother to give me a receipt." Clever
girl.
"Was that all?"
"Yeah, other than the bags of gasoline I had strapped
underneath all the tables and couches. That's why I
shrink-wrapped them all. I didn't want them to be
discovered. Your was so amazed you had taken such
good care of the stuff. She knew you hated it."
"You talked to my wife?"
"Oh, no. But I couldn't help but hear her. God, that
voice.! I didn't mean for her to get burned like that.
Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. If anything, I should thank you!"
"Oh, don't. I would feel funny.
"That was a nice touch with the knitting needles with
Momma."
"I didn't do that one. I thought you had!"
The obvious answer hit us both at the same time. My
dearly departed had knocked off her own to
get her estate. We laughed at the irony of the
situation for a long time.
We lay there soaking in the steaming water, but I could
tell something still wasn't right. She was bothered
about something but didn't know how to start. I
decided to help.
"You want to tell me about it?"
She snuggled back into me before answering. "John, are
we bad people?"
"What do you mean?" I thought she was thinking about
killing each other's families. I guess that would fit
most people's definition of bad, but somehow I didn't
feel sorry for doing what I had done, or that my was dead.
"Well, I went kind of crazy after Darrin was gone."
Don't I know it. At least four dead and counting.
"What we did that day, on the lawn. It frightened me.
You know how I was always terrified of dominant men?
Well, I discovered I liked it when you did that me.
You were so masterful, so strong. I had never felt so
alive.
"Darrin was the only I had ever known. The trucker
never did get me to, you know... Well, I, uh, well, I
was bad. After the funeral I was all alone. You were
gone somewhere. I seduced that lawyer who
handled the lawsuit. And a couple of his friends. I
was their plaything for about a week solid. It wasn't
the same. I wanted you.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I was bad. I needed you to punish
me. Before we made love. I'm sorry.
I softly kissed her hair. I had to be careful where I
touched her as she all over.
She wasn't the only one who had gone crazy. I told her
about what I had done. It still amazed me how many
women would agree to fuck you if you simply came out
and asked them. Only one turned me down, and I think
she reconsidered later and tried to join in.
I went to work one week after the funeral, walked up to
my secretary and told her I had lusted after her since
the first moment I had laid eyes on her. I had lusted
after her every time we had been in the room together.
I had had to be a gentleman for 6 years because of my
wife. She was now dead. Did she want to fuck?
I thought she was going to hit me at first. Then she
started to stalk out of the office. At the door she
stopped. I heard the door lock. When she turned
around, she had this funny smile on her face.
She said that her immediate reaction was to be
insulted, but when she thought about it, she really was
flattered. She said the only reason she was still here
was that she was getting in a month. The only
man she had ever known, or was likely to know, was the
man she was going to marry. She wanted a no-strings-
attached fling at least once before she got married.
She was naked by the time she finished her explanation.
I hope I gave her something to remember. I know I
will. I think we came up for air around three o'clock.
I spent the night and half the next day at her place.
She was a screamer. The whole office knew what we had
been doing that day in my office. The next day when I
finally went back in to the office, I said the same
things to a co-worker whose body and face could have
graced any glamour magazine anywhere. Same result.
She had heard and masturbated to the sounds of our love-
making the day earlier. If anything she was louder.
I didn't come home for about two weeks. It got so that
the women in the neighboring offices would be waiting
outside the office for me to come in to work. Very
little got done for a long while.
Janet was in stitches laughing, which terribly
given her condition. She didn't think I was serious.
I offered to show her the videos. She started
believing me around about the third tape. By that time
we had retired to the bedroom and I was massaging her
aching body with salve.
I didn't stop fucking until I had had every woman in
the building that wanted to. Word spread pretty
quickly, so I didn't have to ask very hard. They were
waiting in line. Married, single, divorced it made no
difference. To them or to me. But it wasn't the same.
Janet had it right. I wanted her. I told her so.
Two very long weeks later I blew out the candles on the
dinner table, casting the remains of a glorious meal
into shadow. was in my lap, warm and soft to the
touch. There were no marks on her skin now. I had
rose petals strewn all over the bed. Soft music
playing. A scented candle was burning on the
sideboard, casting just enough light to see her
glorious body as I disrobed my beautiful neighbor.
Our first time was great. Better than I could have
imagined. I found I liked her to move when we, well,
you know. She did, too.
She told me later that night that tomorrow she wants me
to tie her up and take her virgin ass out in the front
yard where it all started. Then she wants to make love
in all 15 rooms of my house and all 18 rooms of hers -
at least twice.
I guess my eyes kind of glazed over at the prospect of
all that homework she was assigning. When I realized
she had stopped talking, I asked her why she was
looking at me funny.
She just shrugged and said, for a minute, the look on
my face had reminded her of a deer caught in the
headlights. ;-)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
End of
I hope you enjoyed it.... :)
All my published works are archived and can be read or
downloaded free. The archive is located at:
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/NightShade
Comments to: i_m_nightshade@hotmail.com
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